


First Time

by latin_cat



Category: Historical RPF, Young Bloods - Simon Scarrow
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-08
Updated: 2012-03-08
Packaged: 2017-11-01 15:54:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/latin_cat/pseuds/latin_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angers, 1786 - Arthur's first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Time

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the **Show the Colours** KinkMeme on DW.
> 
> _First times. What was each character's first time like? (Can be first kiss, first time with the opposite sex, first time with the same sex - whatever you like!)_
> 
> Also written to show Simon Scarrow (He of the Awful Napoleon & Wellington books) how it should have been done.

**ANGERS ~ JUNE, 1786**

The evening was a humid one, made all the more humid by the few candles that lit the music room that evening of the Royal Academy of Equitation in Angers, affectionately known by its students as ‘M. de Pignerolle’s’, after the academy’s director. Arthur Wesley sat at the pianoforte, his long fingers wandering softly over the keys. He was alone, most of the other students having chosen to go out for a night on the town; but he did not mind being alone. He was used to it, and to tell the truth tonight he was feeling in no mood to go carousing. He felt... down. That was the only word for it, and solitude seemed preferable in such a reflective state.

The door was opened and Mme. de Pignerolle quietly entered the room, closing the door behind her and made her way across to the piano. Seeing who it was, Wesley stopped playing and was halfway up from his seat before she waved him back down again.

“On your own tonight, Arthur?” she asked lightly.

“Yes, madame,” he replied simply. Mme. de Pignerolle was a handsome woman of middle years with greying chestnut hair and fine brown eyes. She was still wearing the cream gown she had worn at dinner, the skirts of which she spread as she seated herself beside Wesley on the piano stool, he moving along so as to give her room, taking advantage of the movement to snatch a surreptitious glance at her bosom.

“And where is Jack? I am surprised he is not here with you.”

“He is in his basket,” Wesley replied, returning to his playing; an air of his father’s. Simple, but pretty and with a charm of that Age. “He was quite tired out, poor chap, from our game earlier. I think Walsh quite exhausted him with all that stick-throwing.”

Mme. de Pignerolle laughed.

“You boys and your games! I wonder if ever you will grow up?”

Wesley furnished her with a smile. He had be told by several of the local ladies, Madame included, that he possessed a particularly charming smile, and having been informed of the fact he took every opportunity to practice utilising it to his advantage.

“We shall always be young at heart, madame,” he said. “Even when we are old men with greying hair and teeth in our mouths that are not our own; we shall still endeavour to deny the truth of our aging limbs.”

Madame chuckled and tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

“You shall never change – of that I am certain.”

“Perhaps you are right; but I suppose even I must grow responsible in time.”

“It is true sadly, yes. My husband and his tutors here teach you the fine arts of a gentleman; swordsmanship, riding, French, etiquette… all this will help make of you a man. Yet there is one thing which distinguishes a man from a boy which my husband cannot teach you.”

“And what is that?”

Mme. de Pignerolle sent him a sideways glance, smiling. She was a very handsome woman, Wesley reflected as he always did when she gave him such a look, or when the light caught her features in a particular way…

“How a gentleman should treat his lady.”

Wesley’s fingers faltered on the keys.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard what I said; and I do not mean in ways of etiquette.” She continued smiling and stroked a playful finger along his jaw. “You know that you have always been my favourite.”

Wesley tried to contain his astonishment and confusion. Yes, he was her acknowledged favourite of M. de Pignerolle’s students; yes, he enjoyed spending time with Madame playing music, discussing literature and telling stories – yes, he admired her for her physical appearance as well as her charm, but he had never heard a word of that sort spoken against her. Not even a rumour.

“Madame?” he queried with trepidation, just in case his suppositions were wrong.

“The door is locked. We shall be safe from interruption.”

No, he had not been wrong. Wesley’s colour heightened a shade as his mind and body comprehended what was required of him; a requirement which his body seemed far too eager to meet – embarrassingly eager at that – yet his mind was having trouble deciding exactly how he should act. He had kissed girls lots of times, embraced some of them as well. He had imagined, quite vividly, within the strict confines of his room what he might do with a woman; but as of yet he had not ventured to explore the possibilities further, shy as he was of appearing indelicate or foolish.

Meanwhile Madame had moved closer to him so as to be almost upon him, her hands caressing his cheek and his chest, knowing fingers gently undoing the buttons of his coat.

“You have two older brothers, do you not?” she queried.

Wesley endeavoured to swallow the lump that had risen in his throat.

“Yes, madame.”

“Useful, but in truth there is not much which can be learnt from brothers, and what there is does not always reflect well on them.”

That was true, Wesley acknowledged as his coat came undone. Were he to have formed the few scanty ideas he had regarding the opposite sex from only Richard’s escapades his morals would be beyond decency by now. Hesitantly he curled one arm around her waist, the other resting on her spine and leant in to kiss that teasing mouth. Madame responded warmly, taking hold of the nape of his neck to encourage him. Breaking off after a while she smiled, eyes alight with mischief.

“Quite impressive, I do declare. You must have been taking lessons from someone else, Arthur.”

Wesley flushed crimson and she laughed; but it was not a cruel laugh, and he smiled bashfully in return. He loved the way she said his name, her tongue caressing the final syllable so that it came almost as a purr; a sound which sent a wonderful feeling to where in all decency it should not go. She traced the outline of his lips with her fingertips, then took hold of his hand and gently brought it up to rest on one of her breasts.

“How does that feel?” she asked him.

“Well,” he replied. He swallowed again. How it made him twitch! “It… feels well.”

“Do not be afraid to touch; just never be too rough or too quick. A lady must be treated well.”

“I shall remember that, madame.”

“See that you do. Now then, you are an intelligent man – proceed in what would be a sensible manner.”

And so Arthur did, and to his extreme satisfaction found that what he supposed he should do was not all that far from the reality; Madame giving helpful suggestions, corrections and encouragement as they went along. It culminated in her sitting in his lap, he straddling the piano stool with a firm hold of her hips, suckling on the breasts that had been released from her corset whilst she gripped his shoulders and rode him, fingernails digging into the fabric of his coat. He came before she did, though there was only a short moment between them, and that moment felt better than he had ever imagined it could feel; his own efforts of the past now deemed paltry compared to now. Yet this was how God had designed it to be between men and women, and so it stood to reason that it must be better than any perverse imitation. It was Divine – in every sense of the word.

He was reluctant to disengage, but as Madame pointed out they could not remain so all night. More was the pity. She told him how best to tidy up, what tell-tale signs to look for that would compromise discretion, requested his assistance in tucking her bosom back into her dress, and then with a final smile and affectionate adieu left the room again. Wesley was once more alone; breathless, astounded, yet thoroughly glad that he had not chosen to go with his fellow students that evening.


End file.
